Page 8 of In You
Feeling my heart pounding with adrenaline, I check my watch. I had everyone down in less than eight minutes, including the time it took to get the sixth one. I say a little prayer of thanks to Frank for curating me into the gifted sniper I am, and then slip unnoticed into the darkness, ready to call it a night.
The country drive through my property feels extra peaceful tonight, and I attribute it to the trees breathing a bit easier knowing theres a few less sick fucks out there terrorizing children. When I get home, I park my car next to the shed and unload my weapons before covering it with a tarp, making the hundred foot walk to my house.
"Hey you two," I greet Tink and Ringo, who's nails are clicking excitedly on the wood floor as they both bark, happy for my arrival.
Being a nomad, I don't normally leave them unless I'm out taking care of an assignment. They do a lot to keep the loneliness at bay, but a dog is no match for a woman's touch, no matter what they say about them being your best friend.
I lower to my haunches to give them each generous pets before dumping my weapon's case on the living room table. A fission of loneliness swells inside me as I head to the bedroom, strip off my wet clothes, and throw them in the washing machine along with the dirty load that's been collecting in a hamper.
Starving, I head to the kitchen and pull the meatloaf out of the oven that I'd cooked before leaving. It’s the meal I like to eat after a kill. I whip up a pack of instant mashed potatoes and a can of green beans, sitting down at the table and staring at the empty chair across from me as I begin to eat stoically.
It's the same view I've been gifted with the last ten years I've owned this place. However tonight, I'm longing for the sound of little feet hitting the floor as a child races into the kitchen, hungry for dinner. Pain fills me, because I know that I'm not fit to be a parent, and I don't even know why I entertain these thoughts. But without fail, after every kill, when I sit down to eat my meatloaf that reminds me of my mother and the sick shit she put me through as a child, it serves to reaffirm for me why I shouldn't harbor such grotesque sentiments.
A killer like me, however justified, should not be a parent.
3
A Lone
Tamryn
That Same Night
Myeyesopen,andthe sound of the crashing waves fades from my ears as I reluctantly force myself to come back to the present. Wondering for the hundredth time, that if a drop of water knew the inevitable ending it's facing as it heads to the shore to break apart against the rocky terrain, would it still be as excited to be a part of its surroundings?
That's what I ask myself in these moments when the young girl kneeling beside me, who's bright blue, blue eyes are full of terror, makes me want to falsely reassure her that she's going to be okay after this. She's not going to be okay. No one who leaves here after a visit to this dungeon is okay. I know I'm not.
So why would she be?
"Turn and arch your back," the Captor orders in his deep voice.
My companion for this photo shoot lets out a tiny sob and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Shhh," I shush her quietly as I take her trembling hand in mine and pull.
We arrange ourselves side by side, arching our backs as instructed. My skin dots with sweat as the bright lights hit my ass, warming my vulnerable, naked skin. The bulbs flash brightly against the concrete wall that's covered with a fake backdrop to make it seem like me and my underage companion are not imprisoned, like we actually are. I fight to not tense when fingers dig into the fleshy globes pulling my asscheeks roughly apart.
The bright light flashes again, nearly blinding me, yet somehow still not managing to erase how debased and embarrassed I feel.
"What's your name?" I whisper.
Shivering, she tilts her head towards me, and at the instruction of the Captor, we move closer. I turn slightly, sitting on my knees and tilting my body to hide my broken hand with it's cast out of sight of the camera. It throbs, letting me know I've pushed myself too hard today, but I have no choice. The Captor won't give me relief. Not from this. Not when he gets so much money from these pictures and the men who need me to help boost their prisoner's financial value.
"Lily," she whispers, flinching as her owner reaches forward and grabs her by the crown of her hair, roughly yanking her head back and to the side.
"Fix your face,dumb bitch,"he hisses at her, causing her blue eyes to well up with tears. When he lets her go, her round eyes slide to mine, glistening in the lights. Fearful. I blink, trying to rid my own eyes of tears that won't help, wanting with everything in me to be a person she could see that isn't broken. A person who she can look at and feel strength instead of misery. I want to be her beacon of hope.
"Yours?" she whimpers.
"I'm Camilla," I answer, barely moving my lips. "It's okay, honey. Just lower your lids a little, look at me, and part your lips."
God. I wonder how old she is?
My eyes roam her face curiously, sadly. She can't be more than thirteen or fourteen. My heart tugs, and I try to inconspicuously soothe her by rubbing my thumb against her arm in a gentle caress, shooting a prayer of mercy on behalf of this young girl to the God I stopped believing in about a year ago when the Captor's monster came out and decided to make me his captive.
A tiny whine escapes her throat, and I tilt my head at a different angle, sticking my bare breasts out in an attempt to make up for what she's lacking on her end of her Captor'sbargain. My eyes caress her flawless white skin, looking for bruises or marks but see nothing. On the outside, at least.
I don't know if her owner beats her like mine beats me, but I'm willing to do anything to spare her. Poor baby.
